


Interpolation

by Mundovore



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate-History Earth, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Drama, Mystery, POV Third Person Limited, Steven-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mundovore/pseuds/Mundovore
Summary: Steven wakes up with a severe headache in a strange and futuristic version of his own house. How did he get there, and who did he replace?Takes place an arbitrary period of time after the Wanted and Steven's Return bombs.





	1. 1

The first thing Steven noticed on waking was a dull and pounding ache in his head. It was not the worst pain he had ever felt, but it was significant, and it slowed his waking moments as he followed the thud-thud-thud of his head as it marched in perfect synch to his heartbeat. The headache wasn’t the only oddity of his waking, however: his bed, for instance, was too soft. It cradled him in a way that his bed didn’t, the mattress seemingly coming around to his sides. Light and delicate sheets were draped over him, thrumming with an electric warmth. He had no pillow, as best as he could tell, but rather the bed itself had risen up to cushion his head.

It was the most comfortable that Steven had ever been in bed, and it was not his bed. He struggled to reconcile the animal comfort with the rational, panic-inducing conclusion that he was waking up in a different bed than he went to sleep in. 

“No.” he mumbled. “No, no. Wake up.”

Steven forced himself up, his headache briefly spiking in intensity as he lurched upward. His eyes fluttered open just barely fast enough to watch his thin sheet dissolve into a swarm of infinitesimal lights that retreated swiftly to the edges of the bed. The lights cast a gentle blue over his mattress, which had begun to gently shift and warp beneath him, his own imprint in it vanishing and an incline developing which would make it easier to get out of bed on his left side.

Eyes quickly adapting to the dim light, Steven found around him what seemed like an odd attempt at replicating his house—though clearly only the basic layout was meant to be copied, and any attention to detail or authenticity had been forgotten. The most immediate change was that the bed was on the opposite side of the loft, where the television normally was. Where the bed was supposed to be, there was instead a wide shelf, stuffed to the edges with thick books and thin cases. From this angle, he could see out the front windows to the beach, featureless and glistening white sand barely illuminated in pale morning light. 

The floor was made of a near-black wood with perfect polish, and the walls were made mostly from some sort of dark, lustrous glass or stone. The glowing edges of the bed cast eerily beautiful waves of color about the entire home, the walls reflecting the wavering light upon itself many times over. Steven held a hand out into the open of the room, watching the fine streaks of cyan across his hand that rippled and flexed as he moved it, much like the light cast by standing under a subaquatic dome in some aquarium. Gaze traveling slightly closer to his body, he noted that he was wearing some sort of tight and fuzzy green pajamas rather than his own. There were no obvious symbols or decals, aside from a small star on the cuff.

Steven pushed himself out of bed so that he could further examine the strange attempt at replicating his home. There were no stairs to the loft at all, though leaning over the edge, he noticed indentations in the wall alongside some handholds near where the stairs would normally be, a recessed ladder of sorts. The kitchenette had black counters, the cabinets and drawers seemingly had no handles and were totally flush with whatever surface they were embedded in. The refrigerator seemed integrated into the wall, and was black, featureless, and undecorated. Below him, where there was normally a small table in front of the couch, the couch stood alone, and was either black or deep blue with an understated glowing strip of pink along the bottom.

Steven might have considered the house’s similarities in layout to his own a freakish coincidence, except for two aspects: First, hanging over the front door was the exact same portrait of Rose Quartz as hung over his own door, identical in all ways but for the frame, which was silver; and second, the back of the house was host to an identical cave with a Temple door at the back and a warp pad in the center.

Where was he? Steven considered his options, and opted for caution. 

Silently, he hopped off the edge of the loft, floating softly to the couch below. He crept to the kitchenette, and examined the details unfamiliar to him. The drawers were fairly similar, though they had no handle and instead required a firm push before an internal mechanism would cause the drawer to gently roll open. The cabinets had no visible means of ingress, but as he reached his hand out to them they opened upwards on their own, the solid stone somehow vanishing into nothingness rather than any recessed opening.

In the cabinet he opened, immediately below the sink, Steven noticed the apparent lack of plumbing, and further noted the lack of any obvious controls for the faucet proper. Almost as if it was there for decoration, rather than any practical purpose.

Steven glanced back up at the painting of Rose. It was uncanny—as if some alien had wanted to make for him all the comforts of home, but had no idea how those comforts were made, so just threw in their best substitutes. Was that bed he woke up in, was that how an alien bed worked? Certainly it wasn’t how the gems slept: they didn’t sleep. Not for the most part, at least.

Steven growled in frustration and rubbed his palm at his temple, where the pain had ever so slightly waned. The juxtaposition of familiarity and foreignness was gnawing at him in a most unpleasant fashion; Rose Quartz had been anything but a comforting figure as of late, but her looming presence over the strange replication of his home was especially unnerving. He needed to get out of here. Maybe the outdoors would help explain where he was, or maybe it wouldn’t, but anything had to be better than staying here until answers came to him.

Briskly, Steven moved to the door—a green-hued slab of slate with a translucent glass set at the top—and was briefly stymied by the lack of apparent handles or knobs on the door. Reaching out to touch the door was enough to solve his problem, though. A slight glow on the door surrounded his hand and the door suddenly slid open through some internal mechanism, and Steven closed his eyes as a wall of cold morning air slammed into his face. He stumbled out into the cold, and grasped a familiarly-placed railing of unfamiliar material as he sucked in a deep breath of predawn chill.

“Any s-second now,” he muttered quietly to himself, hands trembling against the frigid railing. “Any second, I’ll wake up and be back in my home. Just a dream. I have magic dreams all the time, it’s j-just like that. It’s not real. Just seems more real th-than it should.”

A gentle breeze answered him, and he took his hands off of the railing to bring them around himself for extra warmth. He shuddered into his own embrace, mentally counting down his breaths. Three seconds in, five seconds out. Two repetitions. That helped. A gull screeched in the distance, and that helped too, oddly. Gulls were normal, ordinary birds. That was good.

“I’m going to open my eyes, and it’ll be the normal Beach City horizon. I was just dreaming, sleepwalking. I’m fine.”

Steven opened his eyes. The ocean was as beautiful as always, and for most of the horizon, it was just like it always was. Normal, starlit sky, excepting for the vast forest that rose straight from the ocean across the entire left half of the of his vision, trees of unreal size stretching up to mountainous height. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked again.

Not only had the titanic forest not vanished, Steven noticed that the lights which he had mistaken for stars above the clouds were not stars—a vast network of glistening tubes had been established among the clouds, little lights of white, green, blue, and yellow traveling along them at incredible speeds. They grouped together around the intersections of the tubing, and raced along the straightaways, sometimes vanishing for the brief moments that the vein-like tubes were obstructed by the cloud cover.

Watching the lights travel about was mesmerizing. In a way, it helped him center himself in the unfamiliar world, and possibly hinted at the identity of his captors. The veins in the sky, shining with a light they were reflecting from a sun not quite over the horizon, could only be likened to those he had briefly seen weaving between the spires of Homeworld—though their scale and size seemed larger, if anything.

He glanced down at the railing, metal and blue-painted, and followed it to the staircase which led down to the beach. Perhaps ‘captors’ wouldn’t be the most accurate term, as there didn’t seem to be anything stopping him from leaving. He wasn’t trapped, locked in a cage of some kind, like he would expect of Homeworld. Yet again, it was a bizarre intersection of what he did and didn’t expect. The technology and aesthetics of Homeworld, the grandeur and the incredible scale, but Homeworld would never create this world. 

They would have no need to duplicate his home, or the area around it, no need for the equivalence. They would not have need or want for an ocean—indeed, it seemed a liability. The way gem worlds seemed to become processed, the water would seem prone to raining into the center of the earth when it evaporated. Hardly useful, and Homeworld was all about usefulness, exploitation of resources. Homeworld  _ had _ to be responsible, as they were the only ones with the method, yet they had no motive. They had no use for it.

The slow drumbeat of Steven’s headache prompted him to rest his elbows back on the cold metal of the railing, and take a deep breath. Staring out at the impossible forest, Steven wondered if the trees were truly trees, or some odd buildings. Small lights darted between the boughs and through the their canopies, which glistened and sparkled in the rising sun’s light. Steven found himself squinting as the morning grew brighter, captivated by the sight despite himself.

“Beautiful, huh?” A voice made itself known beside himself, and Steven started, heart leaping into his throat as he jumped to the left, making a half-rotation in the process to see the speaker.

A massive figure, grey skin with a star tattoo on one arm, stepped out of the front door with a raucous laugh. The heavy spiral in her chest glittered iridescently as she moved forward.

“Sorry, little dude! Didn’t mean to startle you!” Bismuth’s gaze lingered on Steven for only a second, then flickered back out to the view, towards the titanic forest. “Man, sometimes I come out here real early and watch the top of ‘em so I can see how the Sun hits the treetops first, then travels down. The sun’s already risen at the top of those things, with how far out their horizon is. Longer days, you know.” She scoffed. “‘Course you know.”

Steven seized control of his breathing, knowing that would be the key to controlling his actions. Examining the situation, escape options were made somewhat awkward by his decision to jump to the left rather than to the right. While the leftward jump would make his dominant arm more free and gave it more motion to block and maneuver with his shield, it would also mean that Steven did not have the stairs as an easy option for retreat. It wasn’t a significant problem, given his own mobility, but it was a consideration.

Bismuth gave a low whistle as her heavy footsteps took her closer. Resting one hand—her left—on the railing, she pointed out with the other towards the base of the forest.

“Look at the size of those nurses! I wonder if they’re planting new ones or what?”

Confusion began to supplant panic. Why was Bismuth acting like this?  As if the situation was utterly normal? Steven registered other irregularities in the situation: Bismuth’s clothes were some form of loose robes that hung fairly low to the ground from her shoulders, not at all similar to the thick smith’s apron she last wore. Further, her star tattoo had a circle around it, rather than a triangle below. 

Cautiously, Steven let his gaze follow Bismuth’s finger to the rightmost side of the forest. Barely visible, several giant figures with humanoid torsos jutted from the waves, wading in the shadows beneath the titanic canopies. Despite whatever massive height it took for them to reach their legs to the ocean floor, the giants were still completely dwarfed by the trees they marched between.

Bismuth whistled slow and low, and Steven jerked his attention back towards her.

“I should see about being part of a nurse sometime. I’ve always wanted to try it. Figure it’s part of my civic duty, y’know?” She chuckled.

A few moments of silence reigned over the balcony. Steven found himself inching away from Bismuth—more space would be better for him in the case of a confrontation. Without a proper weapon, his best option would be to retreat with his superior mobility. Bismuth was fast, and could jump quickly, but his jumps would carry higher and further. Any distance might help him avoid a lethal sudden strike.

Bismuth gave a hefty, sigh, smiling and shaking her head. She turned to Steven.

“Y—” She frowned, cutting herself off mid-sentence. “Woah. I didn’t realize I startled you that badly. You okay?”

“Not… not really,” he answered. If Bismuth was willing to talk instead of fight, that would be ideal. It seemed, for whatever reason, like she had no recollection of their last meeting.

Bismuth raised an eyebrow, and gave a short huff of a laugh. One side of her lip twitched into a half-smile.

“I’ll say. You look terrible! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you hadn’t slept in a week.”

Steven took another half step back, and chuckled. “Y-yeah. I haven’t been sleeping really well, lately.”

“You haven’t? That’s news to me.” She squatted down low, one hand on her knee, so that her eyes more naturally met Steven’s. She reached out one hand slowly towards him. “Is there something that’s been bothering y—”

An echoing clang rang out as the Steven’s shield was summoned into existence. Bismuth jerked her hand back to her mouth, the momentum of her retreat knocking her out of her squat and onto her rear. There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Steven, I—” Bismuth took her hand away from her mouth and wiped at one of her eyes before continuing with a slight tremble to her voice. “Steven, what’s wrong?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Steven, what’s wrong?”

Steven took a couple of steps back and took a deep breath. His hands were trembling as he put his shield to the side. 

“Look, I’m really confused right now, and I’m really scared. I want to keep talking. I don’t want to fight. But, I really need you to make sure you give me some more space if we’re going to talk.” Steven’s hands clenched. “I’m really sorry. I’m just… can we just do that, for now?”

Bismuth nodded slowly, wide-eyed. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose we can. Whatever, you know. Whatever helps.”

“Thanks.” Steven took a few steps back and slouched heavily against the railing, breathing heavily. “Thanks.”

“…You need anything?” Bismuth reopened the conversation after some period of silence passed. “A blanket? It’s cold out.”

“I…” Steven rubbed his off-hand against his temple. The adrenaline shock of encountering Bismuth had not done his headache any good, but it was already fading back to a more gentle state. “I need answers. What’s going on? Where am I?”

“Well, I mean, you’re home. But I’m getting the feeling that isn’t what you’re asking. Maybe a bit more from your point of view?” She chuckled nervously. “Because I really don’t know what’s going on here.”

“This is… ugh. It’s like my home, but it’s not at all. It’s different, out of place. Everything’s all high-tech. The the sky is like Homeworld’s, and there’s that… forest, thing. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” Steven locked eyes with Bismuth. Sitting on the floor, out of place, confused, concerned—and concerned for  _ him, _ no less—it was entirely different than how he’d last seen her. “And you, you’re not the Bismuth I know. Or, knew. Or you are her, and you’re really good at pretending that you’re not. Or your memories were changed, or something.”

Bismuth’s brow creased as her gaze dropped to the floor. She ground the knuckle of her pointer finger into her temple in what seemed to be pose of deep thought.

“And you aren’t pulling some kind of prank on me?” She mused quietly, looking back up at him. “Stars know I’ve done you a few nasty ones before.”

Steven shook his head.

“Oh, man.” Bismuth gave a tired chuckle. “I uh… wow. That’s heavy. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I mean, this is how it’s always been. You were born here. You go to school here, or nearby, really. You’ve lived here all your life, with me and some of your mom’s other closest friends. It’s the same as it was yesterday, and every day before, really.”

Bismuth readjusted herself to lean her back against the railing while Steven processed the information.

“That’s… not right.” Steven gestured animatedly at the horizon, to demonstrate his point. “None of that, none of this is right!”

Bismuth glanced over her shoulder, peering between the bars in the railing. 

“So, what’s it like, normally? What do you remember?”

Steven paused, stopping for a few seconds to watch the incredible figures wading beneath the titanous forest.

“It’s… empty, out there. Just the ocean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And the sky, that’s empty, too?”

“Well, there’s the stars. But yeah. None of those,” he waved his hand up at them. “Those lights. The tubes, or whatever.”

“Wow.” Bismuth sighed. “Seems kind of lonely. A beautiful kind of lonely, I mean, but still kinda lonely.”

“I guess.”

Steven glanced at his shield. It didn’t seem like he really had a need for it at this point, but it still hung aside his arm, magically fixed a couple centimeters from the skin. He took hold of it and pulled it into an embrace, holding it close to him for security more than anything.

“And so what, you woke up, and it was all different for you?” 

Steven started, realizing that he hadn’t been watching Bismuth. She was still resting against the railing though her gaze, heavy with sadness, but had turned back to him while his attention was diverted.

He nodded. “And I had a really bad headache, too.”

Bismuth gave a short, huffing laugh.

“Wow.” She shook her head. “That’s… crazy. Even by your standards, really.”

She looked him in the eye, and smiled gently.

“You’re really something wild, you know that Steven? You’re really something else.”

“You’ve said something a little bit like that before.”

Steven sighed, and took a few tired steps to help his back find the front of the house, and slumped against it. Bismuth watched him slowly as he slowly slid down to the patio floor, clutching his shield.

“You uh… didn’t exactly phrase that in the most enthusiastic tone of voice,” she observed.

“We didn’t exactly part on the best terms.”

“Oh?” Bismuth gave another short laugh. “Way I remember it, it was a pretty normal night last night. So you’ll have to tell me a bit more.”

“We had a fight.” Steven took a deep breath, and looked up to watch Bismuth carefully. Bismuth seemed much more reasonable this time, but if there was anything that would make her upset or likely to attack at this point, it would be discussing this. “Over the Breaking Point.”

Bismuth shook her head, frowning. “That’s not ringing any bells for me.”

The morning cold came rushing back into his awareness as Steven let go of a short breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He laughed slightly, and embraced his shield for the mild warmth it gave off.

“Steven?”

“You wanted to use the Breaking Point, and I thought it was wrong. You got upset at me for that, because that’s what my mom would have said, so we had a fight over it. You were really made that Rose didn’t let you use it.”

Bismuth’s frown deepened, massaging her temple as a few seconds passed with her in deep thought.

“I…” Bismuth paused as she appeared to consider her response, the continued. “Steven, I don’t remember anything like that. I can’t really see it happening—not that I don’t trust you to remember it, but I had nothing but respect for Rose Quartz. And on top of all that, I have no clue what you mean by this, this ‘Breaking Point.’ I’m drawing blanks on it.”

“You built it.”

“Steven, I think it’s pretty well established we’re working off of different sets of memories here, and I’ve built a lot of things,” Bismuth chuckled. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“It was a weapon,” Steven clarified.

“Oh.” Bismuth’s chuckle was cut short. “It’s uh, been a long time since I’ve made any weapons. What sort of weapon?”

“A weapon for shattering gems.”

“Oh.” Bismuth put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. I never…” 

“Yeah, I could see that leading us to parting on fairly bad terms,” she said, muttering through her fingers. She tapped her index against her chin a couple of times, then made space between her hand and her mouth to talk more clearly.

“When you uh, said we had a fight. What kind of fight did you mean? Like, a fight? Or…” She mimed punching a fist into her hand. “Or like, a  _ fight _ fight?”

“A real fight.” Steven found himself clasping his hands over his shield, wringing them for extra heat.

Bismuth leaned forward slightly.

“And that’s why you’ve been so scared of me, huh? You weren’t hurt, were you? Are you okay?”  Well, no, clearly not, but I mean, what happened?”

Steven’s gaze fell.

“I was pretty hurt, but it could have—You were really fast, and really strong. I tried to get you to listen, I—” Steven stopped as he found himself wiping away a tear, but the process merely led to another taking its place. He sighed, squeezing his shield tighter. “I couldn’t get you to stop. You wouldn’t stop. I was scared, so I poofed you.”

Bismuth gaped at Steven for a brief moment.

“You? You, poof—no.” She smacked her hand against her forehead, hard, then grimaced as Steven flinched at the sound. “No, I’m sorry, that’s far from the most important thing here.” She mumbled.

“Steven. It’s okay, alright? I’m not going to say that it didn’t happen to you. But whatever you remember, whatever happened or didn’t happen, whatever it was and whoever did it, she wasn’t me. That person, wasn’t me.” She was quiet, but insistent in her tone. “Can you look up at me, buddy?”

Steven wiped again at his eyes, then peered up, forcing himself to stare into Bismuth’s gaze. Her brow was creased with worry as she whisperingly continued.

“It’s  _ okay. _ You’re safe with me. I’ve never done anything to harm you, and I never will. I’m not her. I don’t know what’s going on here. But we’ll figure it out. And I don’t know if you know any of them, but you have other family here, too, and they’ll help too. We’ll figure out what’s happened together, because we all care for you, and because we love you. But you need to trust me, trust us, that you’re safe with us. Okay?”

Steven fidgeted slightly with his shield.

“I’ll try. I don’t know what’s going on either. I think I can trust you, or at least try. You’re a lot different. Less intense, if that makes sense.”

Bismuth snorted.

“I can hardly imagine being more intense. I’m a pretty hard-running gal.”

“Yeah.” Steven smiled. “Before we had our fight, we played a few games with you. Even then, you were pretty intense, but—”

“Not me,” Bismuth interjected. “Her.”

“Right. Sorry. I played a few games with… the other Bismuth, and she was really intense even when we were playing, or just talking. You’re a lot less scary.”

“I bet.” Bismuth leaned her head back against the railing, looking up at the sky. Steven glanced over the railing, to the light-dotted sky. “It’s been so centuries since I’ve done any fighting. A long, long time ago, I made weapons… but even then, I never even  _ thought _ of a weapon for shattering gems. I could hardly imagine what I’d have to go through to be put in a position where I thought that was a good idea to make, let alone to use. Let alone to, to attack someone over the choice to use it. Someone like that, they can’t be in a good place.”

“Y—she wasn’t.” Steven shuddered. “She’d lost a lot of friends. She had a lot of pain.”

Bismuth shook her head.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” She sighed. “This is going to be rough, isn’t it? Figuring this out?”

Steven nodded before he realized that Bismuth wasn’t looking at him, her eyes still towards the clouds.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Whelp.” Bismuth reached up for the railing from behind, and hauled herself up. She glanced out to the horizon, before looking back to Steven with a small smile.

“I’m not sure we’ll do much good for you out here in the cold, unless you want to sit and watch the Nursery for a while. Should we head in, and see if we have any ideas? Maybe get some breakfast going?”

“Nursery?”

“Nursery.” Bismuth pointed out towards the titanic forest.

“Oh. Uh, I think some food would be nice. I think I’m pretty hungry.” Steven made to start standing, then clutched at his stomach as a sudden pain of hunger wracked his body. “Actually, I’m really hungry. Really, really hungry.”

“Need a hand up?” Bismuth half bent, offering a hand.

Steven shied away slightly at the gesture.

“I think I’m fine on my own. Can you uh, back up a little?”

“Huh? Oh!” Bismuth stepped backwards hastily. “Right. Space. Sorry about that.”

Steven let out a quick huff of air, then smiled sheepishly as he pulled his way to his feet.

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, but it really does help.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anything that helps. Is it okay if I sneak past you to get inside, or do you want to go first?”

Steven’s newly-arisen hunger gnawed at the corner of his mind, supplanting what little remained of the headache, but it was going to take getting used to Bismuth before he’d feel particularly comfortable turning his back on her. Besides, he didn’t actually know what food was in the house—he’d need Bismuth’s help to find anything to eat.

“You go first, please?”

Steven looked down at his shield, which had wound up in one of his hands as he was standing. There was no need for it anymore—there wasn’t any need for it in the first place, but he hadn’t known that. Steven closed his eyes briefly to bring clarity to his thoughts and dismissed his shield, which made a small chiming noise as it twinkled out of existence. 

Steven opened his eyes in the middle of Bismuth’s path to the door, and a smile blossomed onto her face.

“Thanks, bud,” she said, quietly, nearly a whisper, but full to the drop of sincere gratitude.

She gestured as she entered, and a gentle yet crisp light filled the home. Steven followed her indoors, his body and his thoughts warming as he noted exactly how much more pleasant the room was when he wasn’t in it alone, and in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Bismuth strode over to the kitchenette, and pressed on a section of ground on the loft-side of the island. A small disc maybe a bit larger across than Steven’s forearm hovered out of the floor in front of her, then she stepped around to the other side of it, leaning against the cabinets on the far wall.

“Go ahead and take a seat here, so we can talk while I put something together for you. If that’s a little too close, or you don’t particularly want to talk, you can go sit over on the sofa and I’ll put the table up for you when I’m done.”

Steven approached the disk-seat, which was hovering at about his eye-level. It was at perfect height for eating at the island if he’d already been sitting on it, but less than ideal for sitting on. Experimentally, he pushed down on it, and found that while it tilted slightly and slid slowly in the direction it was tilted, the seat was overall quite stable. He pulled himself up without too much difficulty—his own weight was negligible to lift, these days—and wobbled a little bit on the seat as he stabilized.

  
Bismuth was efficiently moving through the cabinets, collecting ingredients as she went—several slices of thick and fluffy bread from a box in one cabinet; from another, a clear bottle of a thin brownish liquid and a bottle of golden syrup; from the upper shelf of the same cabinet, some nutmeg and cinnamon along with the tools for milling them.

She peeked over her shoulder and smiled on seeing Steven adjusting the position of his seat by leaning slightly from one side to the other.

“Rescue bread has always been your favorite,” she commented as she turned back to the refrigerator, which she reached through as if it were immaterial to retrieve a couple eggs and a small jar of milk. “Figure now’s a good a time as any to go to a classic, huh?”

It took Steven a moment, but he recognized the ingredients.

“Oh! French toast.”

“Huh. I’ve never heard it called that.” Bismuth portioned the liquid ingredients out into a bowl.

“Yeah… well, I’ve never heard it called ‘rescue bread.’”

“Well, it’s called that because technically you’re supposed to do it with stale bread, so that it ‘rescues’ it, you know?” Bismuth grinned as she fetched a whisk from a drawer. It was comically small in her massive hand, but she handled it with practiced ease. “So technically I’m cheating, but it helps the taste.”

“Huh. I thought it was just crackers and cookies that went stale, not bread.”

She shrugged. “If you’ve got a good bread box or something like it, it generally molds before it stales. Though we always use it all before that happens.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as Bismuth cracked the eggs into a bowl.

“What’s ‘french?’”

“It’s uh…” Steven scratched his head. “Like, it’s from France. The country.”

“Oh. That’s kind of weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Weird.” Bismuth dipped the slices of bread into the mix, and put them right on the flat stovetop. Immediately, they began to sizzle, with no skillet nor time to heat. “For over a thousand years, the Federation’s been the only state on Earth. Humans, gems, all under one banner.”

Bismuth glanced at the portrait of Rose Quartz on the wall.

“I’m not sure what it was like in your memories, but the Federation was your mother’s proudest accomplishment as a diplomat. Without her, the all this couldn’t have existed.”

Steven looked at the portrait, too. In the better lighting, he saw minute differences—the colors were deeper, with more variation. He’d always looked at the portrait, or at least his version of it, with the impression that despite her smile and peaceful expression, there was an underlying feeling of exhaustion, or regret. This version still captured the serenity of expression, but the sense of exhaustion was amplified. There was a sense of something else, too, around the smile, something about how it curled at the edges. There was a sense of pride and confidence, nearly smugness, but not quite.

But it was still undeniably the same painting. The discrepancies were ultimately minute.

“Rose was pretty important to how my world turned out, too.”

“She had a way of that,” Bismuth said, chuckling. “Never could quite find her way out of the middle of things.”

She flipped a piece of toast. “So this ‘France’ place, is it important? Why aren’t they a part of the Federation?”

“I mean, it’s kind of important, I guess. It’s important to the people who live there.”

“Heh, well I suppose that’s good. It’s good to care about where you live.”

The toast came off the stovetop with a clean hiss. Bismuth arranged the four pieces on a large plate, quickly and cleanly sifting powdered sugar on the top, and added a generous blob of red jam alongside a modest portion of soft butter to the edge of the plate. Steven’s mouth was watering as Bismuth set the plate in front of him along with a cloth napkin full of the clatter of silverware.

“There you go! We’ll see if that doesn’t help a little,” Bismuth said.

“It looks incredible!”

Steven unrolled the cloth napkin, taking a fork from it while leaving the knife. He dipped the fork in the jam to get a small coating of it before cutting into a piece of toast with the edge of the fork. It was absolutely heavenly, and the first bite blended into the second, and then the third, fourth…

“Woah! I’m uh… I’m gonna start another batch.”

 

* * *

 

Somewhere into his sixth piece of french toast, Steven groaned a little.

“I don’t think you needed to start that third batch…”

“Oh?” Bismuth chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t sweat it, if I were you. You’ve got other things going on.”

Steven nodded, and looked down at his food. Once he had slowed down, he’d really come to appreciate the quality—not that french toast was a particularly difficult dish, he’d made it for himself before, but it was easily the best he’d ever had. And yet, Bismuth still put together each new batch with a practiced ease, spending a fraction of the time he would doing any of the same things.

“This is really, really good,” he mumbled through half a bite. “Where’d you get so good at cooking?”

Bismuth took a deep and impressive breath in, sniffing the air almost like she could smell the memories like the smell of cinnamon in the air.

“Twenty-three or so decades ago, I developed a fancy for cooking. It appealed to the artist in me, I guess. It never really stole my heart, but I spent sixty-some years on and off training under some human chefs. Some real great people.”

She paused to flip the food.

“I went back to math after my last chef retired. Madame Lee, the sous-chef—she became the head chef then—and she, she wanted me to stay on. Take her place as sous-chef. But I didn’t have it in me, preferred being a cook, liked doing legwork rather than leadership. So I left, rather than make a drama. I mean, I guess I could made something of that, but it never spoke to me like the numbers did. I have a name in mathematics, and chef-ing was really more of a hobby.”

“Wow,” Steven said. “That’s really cool. My Bismuth—the other one—she didn’t do cooking or math. All she ever did was building things, and then making weapons.”

Bismuth frowned. “I built things a long, long time ago, when I was working for Homeworld. I fell in making weapons for a rebel group once for a little bit, before Rose came around, but… I don’t know. That wasn’t too long, and I never made anything dangerous. It was, I don’t know, a frustration thing, I suppose? A phase, probably.”

“You’re definitely not the Bismuth I remembered, then,” Steven said, smiling a little. “The Crystal Gems, the rebellion, that was what she lived for.”

“The Crystal Gems, you say?” Bismuth said, quietly, measured. “That’s… an odd name, really. Kind of redundant.”

“I mean… I guess?” Steven paused to file away Bismuth’s apprehension at the name, before moving the conversation along.

“How’d you get into math?”

Bismuth laughed.

“Oh, that story’s not nearly as interesting,” she said, grinning. “I liked it, thought it was fun. Wrote some papers, got published some. I’m really big on number theory, but I’m better known for some funky stuff I did with probability ages and ages ago. Most of what I did was fairly elementary, but I’ve got some fans out there who say I did a lot for the field. I guess I mostly do math out of inertia, you know? I like it, people know that I like it, and I’ve been practicing for four thousand years, so you better believe I’m good with it!”

She shrugged with a small chuckle.

“I’m really a has-been, though. I use my cooking a lot more than any math these days.”

“No, that’s really cool!” Steven insisted. “That sounds really nice, to have something you like to do like that. You shouldn’t call yourself things like that, I’m sure you could do lots of cool… math-y things, if you wanted.”

“You’re probably better off if I didn’t,” Bismuth whispered loudly, shooting him a conspiratorial grin. “Garnet can only cook popcorn and instant noodles, and I’ve seen her burn soup before.”

“Oh! Garnet lives here, too?”

“That’s uh, not going to be a problem, is it?” Bismuth asked, looking back at Steven nervously. “She’s out of town with Pearl right now, I could get her to stay out a little longer, see if we might be able to get this resolved first if it’s an issue.”

“No! No, it’s okay,” Steven said, smiling. “I live with Pearl and Garnet, too.”

“And they, uh,” Bismuth said, staring at him warily. “They treat you right, don’t they?”

“Yeah! They've uh... made their mistakes, before, but they do their best, and they're really nice.”

“Ah.” Bismuth breathed a sigh of relief as Steven started adding jam to his seventh piece of french toast.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “Way you were talking about that… other me, I almost thought you lived in some kinda weird Nega-Earth or something. Like from schlocky vid-fics,  where everything good was bad, that sort of thing.”

Steven laughed. “I mean, it can be pretty crazy sometimes, but there’s still nice things. There’s TV, and Tubetube, my friend Connie, and—”

“Oh, shoot!” Steven jumped as Bismuth brought her hand to her face.

Bismuth winced. “Sorry for scaring you,” she said, hurriedly taking the remaining toast off the heat. “But you reminded me of something. Connie’s going to be here any minute now if I don’t call and warn her.”

“Oh! Connie’s my best friend. But uh… I don’t know if I’ll know this Connie. Right?”

“Ah— yeah. She’s your friend here, too, but that’s just what I was thinking.” Bismuth turned to the sink to wash her hands. “I’ll call her and let her know that maybe she should hold on until we—”

A polite chime rang out, and Bismuth and Steven both swiveled their heads to the source of the sound.

“Well, at least Connie being early brings _some_ normalcy to the day,” Bismuth groused in the background as Steven identified a very familiar silhouette through the translucent door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the change in formatting between the first and second chapters—I'm keeping this format (double space between paragraphs, no indent), not because it's the format I want or like, but because it's what I get after copy-pasting it over from Google Docs. Let me know if the setup causes anyone problems, or if anyone has a good solution, but I am absolutely not going through the chapter every time I make a post in order to fix that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Connie let herself into the house with a relaxed and confident stride forward into the room. Her face lit up with a cocky grin as she saw Steven.

“Steven! You’re still in PJs! How are you going to start your day looking like that, huh?”

Steven wondered what his wardrobe even looked like—his memories of red shirt, yellow star, those memories weren’t applicable anymore. Steven shut down that train of thought before it ran straight down the tunnel of existential dread, and instead focused on the differences and similarities between the Connie he knew and the one in front of him.

Most obviously different was her clothing—unlike he’d ever seen, but his first impression was of a ninja’s formalwear. Layers of a tough green fabric had been assembled together in what was closely analogous to a vest, though its thickness almost suggested breastplate. Underneath the kind-of vest, she wore a dark green shirt with long sleeves and many pockets of varying levels of fullness. Her pants were made of a similar, somewhat tougher-looking material, and her shoes were rigid and earthy-brown.

" Uh, Connie, can I step outside and talk with you for a moment?” Bismuth interjected hastily. “We’re in the middle of an odd situation.”

Connie was nearly halfway to the kitchenette by the time Bismuth had finished speaking. She stopped with a quizzical frown.

“I suppose.”

“Sorry, Steven. We’ll be right outside, if you need anything.” Bismuth toweled off her hands and made for the door.

“Uh…” Connie looked at Steven, with an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Is everything alright?”

Steven opened his mouth to respond, but found no air in his lungs to answer. Bismuth spoke before he could figure out what to say.

“Not exactly. I’ll explain it. Follow me?”

Bismuth led Connie out to the balcony, with Connie casting a concerned look to Steven as she left the house. Immediately after she turned the corner, he found his breath—why had he been so paralyzed? Connie had never been intimidating to him, and there was nothing frightening about her now.

He took a deep breath, and thought it through. It was likely the small differences, the things that he’d only picked up by knowing Connie so closely for so long. This version of Connie was of thinner build, and more wiry frame—she lacked the muscle that she’d put on from intensive training with Pearl. In her smile and demeanor, she projected an even greater amount of confidence that the not-insignificant amount he was familiar with. Brasher, more bold. It unsettled Steven, gave him the same eerie feeling as this morning of living in a world that was so desperately close to his own, but was making absolutely no attempt to be.

“What!?” He heard an exclamation of shock from Connie, outside. 

How should he refer to her, in his thoughts? Connie Two? The Other Connie? No—that felt strange. Her name was Connie, so he’d call her that, even if she was a different person from the Connie he knew.

For now, at least, this was his reality. Might as well get accustomed to it.

There were a few moments of silence that followed, Bismuth and Connie talking too quietly to be heard from around the corner. No noise other than the far-off movement of the ocean, and the hissing of the french toast cooling by the stovetop.

Deciding to stand was a more difficult decision than he was used to. His natural inclination to slide off the seat only succeeded in scooting it around, the seat hovering about to try to keep him from falling. Instead, he lifted himself off the side and dropped to the floor, stumbling only a little in the landing.

He glanced again at the figures outside. Connie was still… well, Connie. There were differences, certainly, but as he watched her gesticulate animatedly as she made some point or asked some question, the behaviors and tics were all still so very similar. She was a different Connie, but still Connie.

It was just barely after dawn. Had she eaten breakfast yet?

Steven wrestled the plate of toast off the high counter, and made for the balcony. As he neared the door, he stopped to listen to the conversation drifting around the corner.

“—so I should just go? How does that even—”

Bismuth interrupted.

“He remembers me as a war criminal. You’re young, and whatever he remembers having gone through, it’s intense. I don’t want you to be hurt by that, and he wouldn’t either.”

“I’ve helped other times! I—”

“Absolutely not. Not until we know more, at least.” Steven heard the sounds of Bismuth’s heavy robes shifting as she sighed deeply. “We’ve had odd things happen with Steven before, but this feels like a completely different level. I’m a little afraid, even, so—”

“So you should want me around even more!” Connie asserted herself. “I’m no more a child than Steven is, and I’ve got a totally different perspective on him than you or anyone else. Plus, I’m orders of magnitude closer to his age! I can help a lot to make him feel more comfortable.”

“…If we need to meet a completely new Steven, and this isn’t temporary? Then that’s probably right.” Bismuth conceded. “But we don’t know that yet. We need time to figure this out, and time for him to get settled into… well, everything.”

“I don’t think he’ll settle very well alone in a house with someone he remembers as a war criminal.”

“I—Pearl and Garnet will be back shortly after noon, probably, and—”

“I. Can. Help. Please, give me a chance on this,” Connie insisted. “I can handle it, and if it’s half as bad as you’re saying it is, Steven needs us.”

Steven stepped quietly around the corner. Connie’s back was facing him, but he didn’t need to see her face to know how intense her stare could be. Bismuth was staring too, though she was gazing out at the Nursery, rubbing at her forehead with one hand as she thought. Titanic canopies glistened an iridescent green-blue in the late morning sun. A second ocean in the sky.

“I think I’d be fine if it was just Bismuth,” Steven ventured quietly. “But I’d also like it if Connie could stay.”

Connie and Bismuth both started at his arrival to face him, Connie practically jumping about. He smiled sheepishly as they stared at him, and took advantage of the momentary silence to continue.

“Connie’s definitely my closest friend, and I trust her a lot. And she seems pretty much the same, even if she’s definitely kind of different. If that makes sense.”

“Well, if you want her to stay, then…” Bismuth trailed off awkwardly, rubbing at the back of her head. “How uh, how long were you…”

“A little while,” Steven admitted. “I came to see if Connie wanted anything. It’s still pretty early, so I thought she might not have eaten yet.”

Connie glanced at Bismuth.

“You made extra rescue bread? You never make seconds!”

“Those are thirds, actually. Steven was finishing his seventh piece when you got here.”

“Seven?” Connie whirled back to face Steven. “You ate  _ seven _ slices of rescue bread? Those are slices are absolutely humongous!”

“Yeah.” Steven put a hand to his belly. “I was really hungry. I don’t know how much more I can eat, but I still feel a little hungry.”

“Huh. Did the Autodoc say anything about that?”

“Autodoc?” Steven tilted his head quizzically. 

“I—you—”

Connie gave Bismuth a pointed glare.

“You never checked him with the Autodoc?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Bismuth said, rolling her eyes. “Nine times out of ten it’s hardly able to recognize Steven, let alone provide anything helpful. It’s not like there are other human-gem hybrids out there for it to reference, let alone—”

“Still! Come on, Steven!”

In a flash, Connie was herding him inside, hands at his back as she marched him back in.

“Uhh… your toast?” Steven lifted the plate over his head so it was in front of her face.

“Oh! Right. Thanks.”

Connie took a slice from the plate, then zipped off to the bathroom. Bismuth entered behind Steven, ducking under the door frame to fit.

“She this excitable the way you remember her?”

“I wouldn’t say Connie’s excitable, really,” Steven said. “She’s enthusiastic.”

Bismuth chuckled. “True enough.”

Connie returned from around the corner with the slice of bread hanging from her mouth, carrying a roughly volley-ball sized orb with gilded highlights. She set it down in front of Steven, and gave it a slight kick.

“Scan Steven!” She commanded, muffled through the slice of toast.

The golden highlights changed color, blinking red. A double-beep tone sounded, and a wispy voice replied.

“Patient Steven: not found. Increase proximity to patient.”

“See, thi—”

“Come on!” Connie groaned, interrupting Bismuth. “You’re right next to him! Try it again.”

Another red blink, double-beep.

“Steven not found.”

Bismuth shook her head. “The Autodoc’s always been patchy around Steven, especially whenever anything odd happens. It’s only really useful to confirm that nothing’s wrong. Nearly shorted out when Steven turned into a baby that one time.”

“Still, it’s like it doesn’t see him! That’s got to be a tech issue, right?”

“Maybe you can ask it to scan the room or something?” Steven sat down close to the Autodoc. “I mean, maybe it doesn’t recognize me.”

“Affirmative!” Steven half-jumped as the Autodoc loudly proclaimed its readings, highlights going blue as it spoke. “Scan registers known patients Bismuth and Connie Maheswara, and one unregistered patient! Does this unregistered individual consent to being registered to the DocNet?”

“Uh, what does that mean?”

“It means, you were right on the money,” Bismuth said. “Doesn’t recognize you at all.”

She changed her tone of voice, enunciating for the robot.

“AutoDoc, unregistered patient is Steven Universe.”

“Negative!” The Autodoc protested with another red blink. “Unregistered patient is not Steven Universe.”

“He is!” Connie insisted.

“Negative—”

“Affirmative!” Connie lightly kicked it again.

After several seconds, it blinked green in response. “Affirmative.”

Bismuth sighed and rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t going to work. Autodoc, save a room scan and list any significant abnormalities.”

“Affirmative.” The robot’s highlights shone blue for slightly more than a full second before it continued. “Patient Connie Maheswaran: status normal. Patient Bismuth: status normal. Patient Steven Universe: multiple health concerns.”

“There you go!” Connie declared. “That’s good to know.”

“I don’t need a machine to tell me to be concerned about Steven’s health when he’s lost half his memory overnight,” Bismuth grumbled.

“Wait a moment, what do you mean by ‘multiple health concerns?’ That sounds scary.” Steven leaned a little closer to the Autodoc.

“Autonomous judgement concludes Steven Universe is recovering from a degree of starvation equivalent to a two-to-three day fast. Recommendation: continue to ensure proper nutrition and caloric intake. Steven Universe was recently afflicted with severe burns on the hands and feet. Recovery appears to have been successful to a high degree. Recommendation: monitor carefully and prevent abrasion. Autonomous judgement insufficient for proper understanding of thirty-six other anomalies. Recommend professional examination.”

“Starvation?” Connie asked, incredulously. “I mean, sure you’re hungry, but starving? That sandwich you had yesterday was at least half a day’s meal.”

“And I’m pretty sure I didn’t get burned any time recently, in either version of what happened.” Steven cautiously patted the Autodoc on its top. “Sorry buddy, maybe next time.”

“Well, I was going to call Peridot about this anyway,” Bismuth said with a sigh. "Still, it didn't really hurt to check.”

“Peridot? Why Peridot?”

“Right, right.” Bismuth rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ah, I’m not sure how you know of her, but as far as this world is concerned you have a personal physician who’s a Peridot. She goes by Peridot, too, kind of an anomaly for a gem as young as she is.”

“Oh! Alright, I guess that kind of makes sense? Peridot cares a lot about people. Or, well, she got around to it.”

“Well, that’s a relief, I suppose. You’d trust her to take a look at you?”

Steven thought about that for a second, then nodded. If Bismuth was a mathematician, why couldn’t Peridot be a doctor?

“Well then, I guess I better get that ball rolling. While I’m at it, I think I might see if I can get a hold of Pearl and Garnet, get them back home early. They’re at some sort of conference, so it might be a bit hard to—and oh, rats, we need to tell Greg too. I hope he’s got a messenger on…” 

“Oh!” Connie lit up. “While you’re busy, I could show Steven around the town, see if that jogs his memory! And then we’ll be close if Greg wants to see Steven, after you fill him in.”

“Hm. If that’s okay with Steven, then…” 

“That sounds really nice.” Steven said. “If dad hasn’t changed too much, then it’ll be really good for me to see him. He’s always really comforting.”

He rubbed his upper arm a little, and found himself smiling.

“Honestly, it’s not so bad. It’s really lucky that even with everything that’s different, the people are mostly the same. So far it just feels like all the same people, just living in a happier world, and that… That idea makes me happy.”

“I can get that,” Connie said. “I’d probably be pretty scared where you’re sitting, but that makes sense to me. And I guess that makes me feel pretty good, too. That you feel okay, I mean.”

“Mm.” Bismuth nodded. “Right then, I’m going to get working on contacting people. You two head off, and do your thing. But don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

Connie laughed as she walked around to Steven’s side.

“Of course not! When do we ever get in trouble, anyway?”

Bismuth chuckled even as she raised an eyebrow at her.

“If it weren’t for Steven, a heck of a lot more often.”

Connie reached a hand down to help Steven up, but stumbled a bit as Steven used it to pull himself up.

“Woah,” she muttered. “Firm grip.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steven apologized with a nervous chuckle. “My hands might be a little tense.”

“I’ll say. I guess it’s been a really stressful morning for you, huh?”

“I guess,” Steven said. “But it’s been getting better.”

“Well c’mon, let’s not stop that here! There’s no reason today can’t be a great day, think of the possibilities! Almost nobody gets to experience something for the first time twice!”

Steven smiled a little as she took his arm and started pulling him toward the door.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t get dressed first, Steven?” Bismuth called out to the leaving pair.

“Oh," Steven said, glancing down at his PJs. "Right.”


End file.
